The Bodyguard (Steamy Shorts #29)

Chapter 1

MEREDITH

The business kills Dad first, then comes for me.

Days after his heart gives out at his desk, I'm sitting in an attorney's office while the vultures circle—my father's empire now a corpse they're eager to strip.

I never wanted this. Never will. Not in a million years.

"...and to my daughter, Meredith Claire Ashton, I leave the entirety of Ashton Collective, including all subsidiaries, properties, and assets, to be managed at her sole discretion..."

Gerald's voice fades to white noise as the room tilts. Eight hundred million dollars. Fifteen thousand employees. Twenty-seven luxury brands across nine countries. All of it mine.

I grip the armrests of my chair, the leather cool beneath my sweating palms. Gerald drones on about transfer procedures and signing authorities, but I can't focus. Instead, I count breaths. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. The technique Cole taught me when panic threatens.

Cole. He stands three feet behind my chair like always.

I know because I've measured the distance a hundred times in my mind.

Close enough to reach me in seconds if needed, far enough to give the illusion of privacy.

I don't need to turn to know he's there, a solid wall of muscle and safety.

His presence ripples through the air like heat off asphalt.

The scent of mahogany and leather fills the room, expensive and suffocating. Underneath lingers the phantom smell of lilies from yesterday's funeral—cloying sweetness that turned my stomach. I'll never be able to tolerate lilies again.

"...contingent upon quarterly reviews for the first fiscal year..." Gerald continues, but I'm stuck on the question pounding through my head.

Why would Dad do this to me?

He never pressured me to follow in his footsteps.

Never insisted I join the family business.

"Be happy," he told me when I graduated college.

"That's all I want for you." When I decided to get my MBA anyway, he seemed pleased but not triumphant.

When I asked to work in Special Projects rather than executive training, he agreed without argument.

For three years, I've been learning the business from the ground up—analyzing acquisitions, reviewing financials, sitting in on strategy sessions. But always in the background, never leading, never deciding. Never once mentioning that one day, all of it would be mine.

"Ms. Ashton?" Gerald's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Do you have questions about the terms?"

All eyes turn to me—Aunt Patricia with her perfectly coiffed hair and narrowed gaze, Uncle Charles with his poorly concealed resentment, cousin Trevor with his perpetual smirk.

I hate them all so freaking much. They weren't there much for Dad unless they needed something, but now they don't even make it a secret how disappointed they are.

I clear my throat. "No questions at this time."

Gerald nods, closing the folder with a soft thump. "Well, that concludes our business today. I'll have my associate prepare the documents for transfer of ownership."

The room empties of attorneys, leaving me alone with my father's family. The silence stretches taut until Aunt Patricia breaks it, her diamond bracelets clinking as she leans forward.

"Well, darling," she says, voice honey-sweet and just as sticky, "this is certainly a surprise."

Uncle Charles snorts. "Shock is more like it. Robert never mentioned making such a drastic decision."

"The board won't stand for it," Trevor adds, examining his manicured nails. "No offense, Merry."

"Exactly." Aunt Patricia nods. "The board meeting is in one week. They'll question your ability to lead. You have no experience running a company this size."

"I've been working in the business for three years," I tell them, wishing so badly they would just go away.

Uncle Charles laughs. "Special Projects isn't leadership, Merry girl. You've never led a board meeting. Never closed a major deal."

"That's why we need to move quickly," Aunt Patricia says, leaning closer, and it takes every effort not to push her away. "You need to appear stable. The board needs to see you with a strong partner, someone who understands business, someone with the right connections."

My stomach drops. "Wait, what? What are you suggesting?"

"Brian Percy." She smiles, triumph already gleaming in her eyes. "His father's media empire would make an excellent partnership with Ashton Collective."

Oh God. Brian Percy.

The bane of my existence throughout high school. With his Italian loafers, custom-made suits, and a face you forget a second after meeting him.

I remember him bragging about taking a day trip to Paris just for a haircut. For someone who's old money, he sure doesn't act like one. He is the very definition of vanity, and being in the same room as him is like listening to nails on a chalkboard.

To say that I can't stand the guy is a major understatement.

I barely have my thoughts together when Uncle Charles says, "Exactly. We need to move quickly before the board loses confidence. Announcing an engagement would stabilize the situation."

"Engagement?" The word sticks in my throat. Yikes, what the? "I can't get engaged right now, least of all to Brian."

"Don't be difficult, darling," Aunt Patricia says, patting my hand. "Brian is a catch. He runs the broadcast division of Percy Media. He understands what you're facing."

Trevor nods. "You're way too shy to run a company anyway. At least Brian has a personality."

I should argue. Should tell them this is absurd, that I won't be auctioned off to secure their positions in a company that isn't even theirs. But grief has hollowed me out, scraped me empty. The words don't come, and I slump in my seat.

Aunt Patricia takes my silence for agreement, her smile widening. "You're such a good girl, Meredith. So meek. So accommodating. That's why this will work perfectly."

Uncle Charles claps my shoulder like I'm a child. "This is such a good trait for a wife, Merry-girl, you know, being easily agreeable."

They gather their things and leave, conversation already shifting to what Dad was thinking when he left the company to me, and if they should contest it since he may not have been in a sound frame of mind when he made the decision. They don't even care that I can hear.

The door closes behind them with a soft click.

I sit frozen, trembling.

"Meredith, let's go."

Cole's deep voice snaps me out of my paralysis. He's beside me instantly, not touching but close enough that I feel his heat. Shaken, I stand and follow him into the hallway.

It's one thing I absolutely like about him. He uses silence the way other men use words. Unlike Brian, who loves the sound of his own voice.

Cole's hand hovers near the small of my back as we navigate the building. Not touching, never touching unless moving me from danger, but close enough that I could lean back and meet his palm if I wanted. If I dared.

People stare as we pass. The grieving heiress and her bodyguard. I keep my chin up, face neutral. Years of practice hiding emotions serve me well now.

The parking garage is cool and dim, the distant sound of traffic muffled. Cole's black Audi SUV waits in a reserved spot—bulletproof glass, reinforced doors, a tank disguised as a luxury vehicle. He approaches the passenger side and pauses.

"Front or back?" he asks, his voice like gravel over silk.

This is his way of asking if I need space or company. The back seat means privacy, silence, being left alone with my thoughts. The front means conversation, his presence, not being alone. Today, I can't bear solitude.

Today, I need him.

"Front."

Something flickers in his eyes—relief maybe?

—before he opens the passenger door. I slide in, breathing in the smell of leather and his favorite musky cologne—a scent I've come to associate with safety.

This is one place I can strip off the mask and be myself, well, aside from my apartment, of course.

Cole moves around the vehicle, folding his large frame into the driver's seat and casting me a sideways glance. He always does that, constantly checking if I'm okay, and it makes me feel seen in a way I never have before.

The engine purrs to life. He navigates out of the garage and into midday traffic, hands steady on the wheel, eyes constantly scanning for threats, body on high alert.

The silence between us isn't awkward. It never is with Cole. He doesn't fill empty space with meaningless chatter. Doesn't demand I process my grief on his schedule. Doesn't expect anything other than what I am. I'm more than grateful for that.

Fifteen minutes to my penthouse at Ashton Square. Fifteen minutes to find my voice.

"Did you know?" I ask. "About the will?"

Cole keeps his eyes on the road. "No. Your father kept his cards close."

I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. “He never even hinted. It never came up in our conversations, so why would he blindside me? Why would he do this to me?"

"Because he knew what you were capable of."

I turn to look at him. Cole's eyes remain on the road, his jaw set in that determined way that means he believes what he's saying. God, he cuts such a sharp profile. No wonder women unashamedly ogle him. He's so much hotter than those men I see on billboards, flashing past as we drive.

“He knew you, always knew your potential.”

Cole, over six feet of solid muscle, gray eyes that miss nothing, dark hair cropped close to his scalp, and that perpetual five o'clock shadow. That jawline. He's what sexy dreams are hewn from. Even daydreams.

Mine, at least, for these past two years.

"You don't know that," I say.

"I do."

I shake my head. "You're supposed to agree with me when I'm being self-deprecating. That's the polite thing to do."

Cole's mouth quirks, almost a smile, and it does something to me. "I don't get paid to be polite."

"What do you get paid for?"

"To keep you alive."

"I'm not in danger from a family meeting, Cole."